<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>For the Night by Infinatesky</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983872">For the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinatesky/pseuds/Infinatesky'>Infinatesky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secrets (Geraskier) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Champagne, Geralt is loved and appreciated like he deserves, Geralt's kink is feeling wanted, Kissing, M/M, Stress, The art of desperately needing somebody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:13:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinatesky/pseuds/Infinatesky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier worries when Geralt gets home late.</p><p>- </p><p>Set about ten years post Time If You Need It, but can be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secrets (Geraskier) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I... don't know what this is. If you do please tell me. </p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt absentmindedly shoved a piece of hair behind his ear. The ponytail, which had been loose to begin with, had had no hope of surviving such a long day. He’d been called into his second job without any time to prepare, and hardly enough energy left inside him to show up. Jaskier would be getting antsy by now: had never been able to shake his nervous tendencies. Geralt felt once more like the bad guy. If he could bring himself to write a quick text, or a phone call during his break, he could save Jaskier from worrying. </p><p>His phone remained hidden in his pocket. Maybe there was a small part of Geralt that enjoyed knowing someone was up thinking about him. Worrying why he wasn’t home yet. No one had ever worried about him like that before Jaskier. No one had ever waited up for him, pacing the living room, hands tangling their short hair. No one bouncing around in the kitchen, still cleaning a counter that had begun to shine twenty minutes ago, ears trained for tires rolling up the driveway. </p><p>“I thought you’d died,” Jaskier would sometimes say, before pulling Geralt to him and refusing to let go. It couldn’t be good for him to worry so much. One day his little heart would surely just give out, and what was Geralt supposed to do then? So he swore to himself that he’d always get home on time, and then one of his coworkers would call in sick, and it would be Geralt’s job to pick up the slack. And he wouldn’t tell Jaskier. Somehow it was always Geralt’s responsibility, and that made it Jaskier’s burden. </p><p>It was very late today. It had already been late when he’d finished his first shift. He hadn’t had a break since the morning; he was exhausted, and his clothes were covered in grime and sweat. He still wasn’t able to leave without a fight. </p><p>“That’s not in my job description, Peterson,” Geralt said gruffly. He pushed the mop into the bucket and began to move everything together like that, turning his back. Most nights the school was empty while Geralt worked. It was unfortunate that tonight was different. </p><p>Peterson, unswayed, followed Geralt step for step. He slipped thin fingers swiftly into his dress pants pocket and drew them back out again, clutching between them an assortment of bills. Geralt could only see the amount of the first couple, and already it was more than he’d be making that day. “It will make such a difference for the students to have a clean shelf to stack their books and bags on. For the students, you understand.” </p><p>The rent would be due in three days. They were behind on grocery shopping and could both use an upgrade for work shoes. Geralt would do anything for the funds to enroll in night school, even just for one course at a time. He pocketed the professor’s cash and followed him away from the janitor’s closet, where he would have dumped the dirty mop water and been ready to leave. </p><p>He thought about many things as he emptied, deep cleaned, and restocked Peterson’s extensive shelves. He devoted hardly any brain power to the task, it was muscle memory—could be done with his eyes closed. The image of Jaskier stayed in the back of his mind like a homing beacon back to the present, but the majority of his thoughts wandered in and out of memories, tugged at by the books he pulled off the shelves. ‘1984’, by George Orwell, was the spring he’d spent entirely with Jaskier, youthful and innocent, driving in his car. ‘Hamlet’ was two years before that, a lonely September curled on top of the covers of his cramped bed, decoding old English with bright eyed passion. He’d cried when he’d finished reading the play, although the ending hadn’t been a surprise. ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, by J. D. Salinger was the last novel he’d tried to read, started just after he and Jaskier had traded in their old lives for this new uncertainty. That book had never been finished. He still had the copy, probably buried somewhere underneath clothes he never wore. The page where he’d stopped would still be dog-eared, underlined phrases stopping just before. </p><p>He was still thinking of books as he fled the school, picturing the feel of their creamy pages between his fingers, and the joy of reading a line that clung to something within him, a sensation which he couldn’t think of any word to describe except light pink. It wasn’t a colour that he ever gave much thought to, and not one that he would ever jump at the opportunity to relate to himself. Somehow, though, in this context he liked it. Words that bled right into his brain, his heart, alighting his veins and breath the colour of rose petals, bubblegum. </p><p>Pink and bubbly, it was no wonder that his hands of their own accord stopped his car outside of the liquor store, and his feet brought him to the middle section, unfamiliar though it was. What he had been looking for caught his eye immediately. The words on the bottle were in French, or written in cursive too terribly tangled for him to bother trying to read. He didn’t have to read the label. He chose the most expensive bottle and paid for it with the wad of cash. It ate up the whole stack and he didn’t care. So many better things he could have done with the money, and he didn’t care. For once he was content to let his impulses win.  </p><p>Leaving the liquor store, he stepped one foot then the other over the threshold, taking in the cool, smokey night air. With the door held open behind him, he could still hear the buzz from inside underneath the louder whirr of cars passing by ahead. Jaskier, still at home, would be listening to something similar: the buzz of their fridge in the kitchen, the traffic on the road outside. Where Geralt was calm, and through the lack of need for immediate attention to any task, felt to be drifting, Jaskier would be stiff and worried. Geralt would go home and pour some calm over him. </p><p>He drove the car with his eyes wide open. </p><p>From the driveway he could see the lights inside their house, shining into the night like an open treasure chest. It was a small house, and they only lived in the bottom half of it, but it was theirs, and they loved it. The paint in the bedroom was uneven and crooked at the bottom from Jaskier’s imperfect hand. The sink was more often than not filled with dirty dishes. Every attempt to keep an indoor plant ended in another wasted thirty dollars (because Jaskier wouldn't listen to Geralt’s reasoning to start with something smaller and cheaper). Geralt was always the one with the rules, and the stares and the sharp shake of his head no. </p><p>Tonight he didn’t know who he was. He’d left his inhibitions in with the dirty mop water. </p><p>He unlocked the  door to let himself in, shoulder checking the stubborn wood to get it open. He didn’t call out to Jaskier, toeing his shoes off silently and sliding the pink bottle in behind Jaskier’s guitar stand. Later. </p><p>Geralt even had time to wash the dishes in the sink before Jaskier found him. Washing the dishes entailed holding his hands under the water until it ran warm, and then holding them there still, allowing the water to wash away the chemical smell of harsh industrial soaps, the lasting tang of grease. He shut the tap off as Jaskier slid his hands over his shoulders. </p><p>They only rested there a moment, moving over his arms and finally clasping the edge of the sink on either side of him, boxing Geralt in. He pressed his chest against Geralt’s back, and Geralt felt the beating of his heart, quick and persistent, from beneath his ribs. Jaskier’s breath rattled against the back of his neck. He had the breathing pattern of someone who’d been exercising. Or excessively worried. </p><p>Geralt’s feet were sore from working, standing all day. He didn’t have any good reason to be standing still except for that Jaskeir seemed to want him to. The muscles in Jaskier’s arms, in his forearms where Geralt could see them, stood out from his hard grasp. Jaskier was trying his best to trap Geralt. Keep him where he could see him. </p><p>Where he’d be safe. It was a peculiar thing. It did peculiar things to Geralt. </p><p>“Hello,” Geralt said, his voice thunder over the stale air. </p><p>“I thought you’d died,” Jaskier said. Exactly what Geralt had expected. On another night, the conversation would have ended there, a quick half-laugh between them. On to the next thing. </p><p>This wasn’t any other night. </p><p>“Were you frightened?” Geralt asked, pivoting to face Jaskier. His hair was fluffy, pushed up on one side as if it’s been pushed up against a pillow. He wore pyjama pants and one of Geralt’s t-shirts, which hung down past his hips. </p><p>He stepped one foot between Geralt’s, and cocked his head to the side. “Of course I was worried. I always am.”</p><p>“Because you don’t want to be alone.” It could have been the late hour, or the high he’d found that night. In the morning, when he’d returned to himself, Geralt would be ashamed to admit how pleased he was at the thought of Jaskier needing him. Now he couldn't stop from leaning into it. “Don’t want to be without me.”</p><p>Jaskier looked to Geralt with a question in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he moved his hands from the counter to wrap  behind Geralt’s back, and pushed up on his toes so they could kiss. It was over too soon, just a brush of their lips together. “I couldn’t imagine,” Jaskier said sweetly, “being without you.” </p><p>“What would you do if- if I didn’t come home one night.” </p><p>At that Jaskier dropped the charade. He took a step back, features calculating. His voice had found it’s regular tone when he answered. “Geralt, is this- Are you asking me that in a real-life, planning for all scenarios kind of way, or because you’re enjoying this.” </p><p>‘Uhmn...” Geralt squeezed his eyes shut. He was a teenager once more, embarrassed to admit to having any likes or interests. </p><p>Jaskier seemed to get what he needed from just that much. Clever devil, he probably knew Geralt too well by this point. He couldn’t hide a damn thing. Jaskier’s hands returned to Geralt’s back, and his voice had once again taken a soft, soothing colour. “I need you so dreadfully much, and I can’t stand it when you don’t show up on time. Each hour that you’re still gone, I feel fainter and my hands shake more and more.” </p><p>Geralt shocked himself with a sharp intake of breath. He felt a pull directing him forwards, and he opened his eyes to more easily follow Jaskier. He was led into the living room, and laid on the couch. It was only two cushions, more of a loveseat than a real couch, and his knees had to bend over the arm rest to allow his head to lay flat on the cushions at the other side. Despite the limited space, Jaskier joined him, stradling over Geralt’s thighs. </p><p>“Did you have a rough day?” Jaskier asked as he began to unbutton Geralt’s shirt. It wasn’t truly a dress shirt, but it had enough buttons that it felt too much like one for Geralt taste. Jaskier seemed to like it just fine. </p><p>“No. I had a good day, actually.”</p><p>“Must have been a very good day. We don’t normally do this so soon.”</p><p>“We aren’t doing anything.” </p><p>“I suppose not.” Jaskier pressed his hands against Geralt’s bare chest. The tips of his fingers were uncomfortably cold until they warmed against his body. He bent his head down to blow hot breath over Geralt’s exposed skin. “Do you want me to keep talking?” </p><p>“You’re always talking.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>Geralt took in a slow breath, preparing to respond. The single word took more effort than the whole act of cleaning out the shelves. “Yes.” </p><p>“Wonderful.” Jaskier paused to take a breath as well. Maybe this was just as unknown as new for him, as well. “Hmm. If you didn’t show up by one am, I would start to cry. It would be just one tear at first, a single drip down my cheek. I wouldn’t wipe it away. I would let it stay there, really feel it on my face.” He lifted one hand off of Geralt and leaned up to reach his face. He drew a finger from just below Geralt’s eye, down to his jaw and then down his neck and tracing all the way back to where his hand had been before, placing it down once more.  </p><p>“My heart would beat quicker, as if it was preparing to jump out of my chest.” </p><p>Geralt felt warm from the inside out. At the same time he wanted both to press down against the couch and arch up away from it.  “Is that painful?” He asked. </p><p>“No. Just a bit worrisome.” Jaskier dipped his head and pressed his lips to Geralt’s chest, just over his own beating heart. Jaskier sucked on the skin until he left a light red mark, which he kissed softly before moving away. He moved his hands to Geralt’s wrists, which he wrapped his fingers around. His grip was strong, but his fingers were constantly moving, rubbing over the delicate skin where Geralt's veins were visible. “I would be on such high alert, waiting for the phone to ring, or a knock on the door. I would feel so cold, scared, assuming the worst.” </p><p>“What’s the worst?”</p><p>“That you’ve died in a car crash on the way home.” </p><p>“That won’t happen.”</p><p>“It’s not an uncommon death, sweetheart,” Jaskier said. He brought one of Geralt’s hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. Geralt didn’t like pet names, but with the soft, warm press of Jaskier’s lips on his hand, and the weight of him where he sat on Geralt’s legs, any arguments of the name died in the back of his throat. </p><p>“I drive carefully.”</p><p>“I’m eternally grateful.” Jaskier was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He had witnessed the extent of Geralt’s careful driving. It had made them late on more than one occasion. Out of the pair, Jaskier was realistically much more likely to cause an accident. It was a small miracle that he hadn’t already. </p><p>Jaskier positioned himself so he rested forward, all of his weight across Geralt. “I really am grateful, though.” He said, face close. “Because, if one day you didn’t make it home, and you could never come home again, I might just have to die myself.” </p><p>The heat inside of Geralt lessened. He used the muscles which had grown cold from laying still to now flip them both over, sitting above Jaskier with all of his weight in his legs on either side. “You don’t mean that.” </p><p>“No, Geralt. I don’t want to die.” </p><p>‘We’ve talked about this before.”</p><p>“Yes, I know.”</p><p>“You’re okay?” </p><p>“I’m okay.” </p><p>Geralt stood off of the couch slowly to maneuver his leg over Jaskier without kicking him. Once upright, he scooped Jaskier into his arms and held him bridal style. He was always caught off guard by how little Jaskier actually weighed in his arms. He had a very big personality for such a small body.  “I have something to give you. Maybe you can make use of it at night when you worry about me.”</p><p>“But not to make me stop worrying altogether.” </p><p>Geralt didn’t respond. He looked only ahead as he walked them both towards the bedroom. </p><p>“Because you wouldn’t want me to stop worrying altogether.” </p><p>He sighed, and relented. The damage was already done. “No.” </p><p>Jaskier didn’t speak again on the subject that night. In the future he kept no such reservations. He took to putting just a little more effort into complaining how Geralt had been gone too long, and describing how he’d been worried. </p><p>He also became too fond of the rosé, of looking at it and feeling it in his hands, to ever open it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And there it is, a snapshot of the new life they made for themselves. </p><p>I'd love to hear your thoughts or answer any questions!</p><p>Find me on Tumblr infinate-sky</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>